The Wind Never Dies
by Rising Light
Summary: Based upon Whistle Down the Wind. A man and a girl trying to understand their emotions for each other, struggling to accept the truth. Takes place after the musical.
1. The Man

**AN: So, this fanfiction is based upon the musical Whistle Down the Wind. I saw it the other day and I couldn't help but think about what happened to Swallow and The Man; I couldn't help but wonder if they ever met up again. As you can see, I couldn't keep my ideas in my head. I needed to write them down, and this is the result.**

**The characters may seem a little out of character, but keep in mind that this takes place over a year after the timeframe in which the musical takes place. I can only assume that these characters have changed over time, and I hope I portrayed that.**

**Oh, I don't own anything except for my hobo box - and even then I have a mortgage on it, so it's not really mine!**

**ANYWAY**

**Without further ado…

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PART ONE: THE MAN

I don't know why I've returned to this town. It's a small town in the middle of nowhere, where all they have are their farms and their religion – oh God do they have their religion. Make me remember my first time I was here. But that's besides the point.

I light a cigarette, my eyes shielded by a dark pair of sunglasses. I watch the townsfolk walk by, unaware of close they are to a "dangerous killer." Not that I've killed anyone since that night over six years ago, but that still doesn't change my status, does it? Then again, they all think I'm dead.

All the more reason not to let them find out who I am.

I glance up at the overbearing sun, wondering why people are even outside; hell, why am I even out here? I could be miles away in a bar, drinking away my worries. And of course, I've got to wear a long shirt – can't have anyone recognize my infamous snake tattoo on my right arm. Damn I was foolish when I got a tattoo like that.

There's a whole lot of people still filing out from the church, even though the service has been over for nearly half an hour. I guess the people like to socialize with each other afterwards to reflect upon the sermon or some bullshit like that. They're probably just trying to get out of the sun. But people can only socialize for so long before they have to get to whatever it is these people do.

Children keep running past me, staring as they pass by. It's funny how observant kids can be. One of them walks up to me, and I recognize her; she gave me a plastic flower way back when. She looks up at me, her head tilted towards the side so her dark braid flops off of her shoulder. "Do I know you mister?" she asks, her voice innocent, her eyes filled with the curiosity only a child can experience.

"I don't think so," I reply. Nodding towards the other kids, I continue, "You should probably go back to your friends."

Ignoring my second statement, she crosses her arms and stares up stubbornly. "Are you sure? Cuz I'm pretty sure I've seen you before."

The cigarette hanging out of my mouth, I grab it and hold it between my thumb and forefinger. Kneeling down so I'm eye-level with her, I mutter, "I probably just remind you of someone you've seen. Go run off with your friends before your folks see you talkin' with me. I don't think they'd take kindly to you talkin' to a strange man, nor me talkin' with you."

She gives me one last glance before running off, creating a cloud of dust as she runs on the dirt street. I get up, brushing the dust off of my pants. I go to run my hands through my hair, only to remember I cut it short a while back, leaving hardly anything to run my fingers through. I put the cigarette back in my mouth, breathing in its flavor.

"Amos, how many times have I told you to stop?!"

My head turns sharply as I recognize that voice, the reason why I've risked everything to come back to the shithole of a town. The next thing I know, my eyes are resting upon a creature so beautiful and innocent that it's almost indescribable. Her hair, long and flowing; her eyes, bright and shining; her smile, happy and pure.

Happy and pure.

She looking up a fellow just a few years my junior and a few years her senior. He's got her arms wrapped around her waist, and she's struggling, trying to escape. My teeth clench, and I reach for the gun I've got hidden in my pocket. I remember that night so long ago in the barn, when he kept trying to kiss her and she kept dodging it. He wouldn't give up, no matter what she did.

I swear to God, I'll kill him if he hurts her.

I stop myself when I hear her say, "Amos, y'know I'm ticklish!"

"Swallow, one of these days you've gotta get over that," he says, his face so close to hers.

She manages to duck out of his arms, grinning at him. "I don't hafta to anything, Amos." She twirls around, her dress billowing around her. It's a simple dress, green with a white plaid design, and yet on her it looks stunning. Her smile radiates so much purity it would put an angel to shame.

I keep my hand in my pocket, feeling the contours of my gun. I know I should toss it in the Mississippi, but every time I've tried it felt like something was holding me back; much as I hate to say it, it's almost as if it's God's will that I keep it. I've sworn not to use it unless I have to, and the only time I'll have to use it is if – or when – someone hurts her.

"Amos, I've gotta go. Brat 'n Poor Baby'll be expectin' me, not to mention my dad. And you know he 'ppreciates me spendin' time with you about as much as he 'ppreciates the devil." She jumps to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, and with a flash she runs off towards the children.

I glance at the boy, watching him as he stares at her running off. His eyes don't leave her, and I'm tempted to blast his head off with a bullet. With a grunt I pull the cigarette out of my mouth and flick it to the ground, twisting it into the dirt with the toe of my shoe.

With a sigh, the boy walks away, his hands stuffed in his pocket. I see him head towards his bike, giving it a quick polish with his coat before hopping on it. Revving up the motor, he drives off in the opposite direction of Swallow's house.

Good. If he followed her, I'd've killed him.

Keeping my gaze to the ground, I walk, my mind a blur. She's just a girl, I tell myself. She's a naïve little girl who believed that I, of all people, was Jesus Christ. Jesus! And yet, these emotions that I have are so strange – I don't know if it's love, or not. All I know is I'd do anything to protect her from getting hurt. She's so pure and innocent. I can't forget the way she looked at me the last time we were together; no one had ever looked at me like that. There was so much love in her eyes, it was almost too much to bear.

The walk to her house isn't too long, but the heat and the blistering sun make it seem longer. There's a drought going on right now, so the stalks of corn are drooping and brown, not very good-looking at all. It'll be another hard year for the farmers here.

After walking for a fair amount of time, I finally see the trailer in the distance. There's nothing special about it, to be honest; just a small little trailer on the outskirts of town. Behind it are the charred remains of what was once a barn, and I swallow back my guilt. It was essential to burn it down in order for me to escape, but it was a shame it had to happen to Swallow's family.

I think she understood why I had to do it though. Or at least, I hope she understood. Hell, I hope she realized that I wasn't really Jesus, just an escaped criminal who needed refuge for a few days.

There's a figure standing by the remains, and I know it's her instantly. I walk closer, though I'm reluctant to get too close, in case her siblings or, even worse, her father sees me. My footsteps are covered by the rustle of the cornstalks as the wind weaves through them. I take off my sunglasses, sticking them in my pocket next to my gun.

When I see her, I instantly sense a sadness about her. She stares at the charred wood, and I'm close enough to see her eyes shining with tears. She's clutching something to her chest, and I recognize it as her mother's Bible, the one that she gave to me and that I saved from the inferno that consumed the barn.

"Why'd you hafta go?" she asks herself quietly. "Why haven't you come back? I know you're alive out there!" She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping from her lips. "I can't cry about my mother dying, and yet here I am weeping about a man that I barely know."

It hits me then: she's no longer the innocent child that I first met, and she's been hurt badly. Oh yes, she's been hurt badly. But not by the delinquent, or even her father: she's been hurt by me.

I'm such a fool. I'm a goddamned fool. Here I am swearing vengeance on anyone who hurts her, yet I'm the biggest hypocrite of all. I silently curse, asking myself why she had to fall for me, and why I can't stop thinking about her. It's so hard to stop myself from running towards her.

She's too young, I tell myself. She's too young, and I'm not good enough for her. She's an innocent bird, and I'm a beast, watching the bird that tempts me so.

I have to leave. If I don't, I might do something I'll regret. With one last glance, I see her wiping her eyes. She turns her head and stares at my location in the corn. I know that I'm hidden well, but I can't help but feel that she knows I'm here, watching her. She begins to walk towards me, but stops when her father's voice rings out, calling her to their home. Her eyes looking over my location one last time, she turns and runs.

I watch her go, flying away like her namesake to her father. I turn and walk away, reaching for a cigarette. I've done what I've told myself I'd do, and now I have to leave before I go and run after her. She's safe, and the only thing that's hurting her is me. So that means I have to remove myself from her life. Maybe she'll be able to get over me. I hope so.

It's time to put that gun of mine to use one last time.

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**AN: Think this is over? Wrongo! There's still one more part left, and I can guarantee that it will answer any questions that you're asking (or at least, I hope it will!).**

**NOTE: I'm not going to beg you guys to review this. I understand that a lot of people don't really like reviewing, and I can totally relate. However, if you see something that I can improve on, a mistake I've made, or if you just want to say you like it (or don't like it - whatever), say so! I can handle the heat if you guys have some criticism – just try to keep it constructive. **

**I'll update with the next part soon.**


	2. The Girl

**A/N: Sorry it's taken a while. I had about a bajillion-and-one papers to write for school, as well as other stuff that consumes my life.**

**I own nothing. I've tried bartering with Andrew Lloyd Webber, but he didn't think a pair of slippers and an old newspaper were enough for the rights of Whistle Down the Wind. I thought it was a good deal, but I guess it wasn't good enough for him.**

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PART TWO: THE GIRL

It's been one year, seven months, and eighteen days since he left. And it's been one year, seven months, and seventeen days that I've been waiting for him to return to me. I haven't let anyone know that I miss him, but I'm pretty sure my dad suspects why I'm always staring out at the barn. I always tell him I'm praying, and in a sense, I am; I'm praying for his return.

I've gotten better though. For starters, I've grown friendlier towards Amos. I don't think I'll ever love him like he wants me to, but I know that he does care for me – he proved that to me over a year and a half ago. He kept my secret, no questions asked. But that still doesn't mean I love him.

I've realized that The Man might not have been Jesus, like all of the townsfolk told me. He could have been the criminal, for all I know. But I don't care. Jesus brought him in my life for some reason, and I'm not going to forget that. There has to be a reason why I was the one who discovered him first, the one who he confided in. I trust the good Lord's judgment.

I'm with Amos right now. He keeps messing around with me, trying to flirt with me and such. I keep making excuses, like I'm ticklish or I'm in a hurry or something, but he doesn't seem to understand. It's almost as if it motivates him even more.

He wraps his arms around my waist, and I feel self-conscious. We're in the middle of town, where everyone can see us. I don't want people getting the wrong idea about us. I make up one of my excuses, telling him I'm ticklish as I try to squirm out of his arms.

"Swallow," he says, and I know he thinks I'm just joking around, "one of these days you've gotta get over that."

However, he loosens his grip and I'm able to slide out. I smile at him, relieved to be out of his grip and free. I twirl around, looking up at the clear blue sky.

I glance over at the children, seeing Poor Baby and Brat. The Lord says we shouldn't lie, but it's not lying if I make a guess about someone's feelings, right?

"Amos, I've gotta go. Brat 'n Poor Baby'll be expectin' me, not to mention my dad." And you know he 'ppreciates me spendin' time with you about as much as he 'ppreciates the devil." She." I can just imagine his face if he found out who I was with right now. I run over to Amos and wrap my arms around his neck. "I'll see ya later, alright?" I give him one last smile before I run off.

As I near the children, I feel like there's a barrier between us. I used to be so comfortable around them, playing their games and laughing at their jokes. But ever since that night one year, seven months, and eighteen days ago, it's like I've changed. Childhood games just weren't the same to me, and it felt awkward trying to be with them.

It's almost like I'm an adult – and I don't like that.

I see Brat and Poor Baby run towards me. "Can we play with our friends for a little longer?" Brat begs, her lips all pouty-like and sad. "Please?"

I hold back a sigh of relief. Lately, I've preferred spending my time alone, thinking, and I'm glad that I can enjoy this for at least a few more hours while these two are with their friends.

"Be back before it gets dark. I don't want Dad to worry about you two."

They cheer and run back to their friends, who proceed to chase them around, dust clouds rising from the ground. I smile, watching them play their innocent games.

I walk towards the house, the buzz of the bugs and the chirps of the birds an orchestra of sounds. I look sadly at my surroundings, the drooping plants and brown stalks crying out for water to quench their thirst. The ground is hot and dry beneath my bare feet, and when I look down I see they're covered with dirt.

My home may not look like much, but it's filled with more memories than one can imagine, and it'll be more of a home to me than any other place. I look at the tree by the trailer and remember when Mom would sit under the tree with me, pointing out all of the different kinds of birds and telling me about them; she was obsessed with birds for whatever reason. And way behind the house, where the remains of the barn are…well, that holds some memories I'll never forget.

I check the trailer for my dad, but I see it's empty. I'm glad. I just want to be alone right now. I need to think. I see my mother's Bible and I grab it, clutching it to my heart.

I've been thinking about The Man a lot lately. He's haunted my thoughts, his dark, wild features always there. His eyes, so dark and intense, always stare at me when I close my eyes. I try to forget about him, but he always returns in my thoughts. I just wish he would return in person.

Despite the barn being burned so long ago, we've yet to clean it or rebuild it. My dad says it's because we don't have the money for it, but I see it as a tribute to the man who hid there for days. I go here often, staring at the scorched ground, thinking and praying. I used to come to this barn to pray to God, and I still do that, but it's also a place where I know I won't be disturbed. Dad hasn't approached it since that night when it got burned down, and Brat and Poor Baby think it's boring. No, it's my place of solitude.

I think of the song Mom used to sing to us, and I feel the urge to sing it. My mom had the prettiest voice, and lots of people say that I got that from her. All I know is her song is a part of me.

"Whistle down the wind, let your voices carry.  
Drown out all the rain, light a patch of darkness,  
Treacherous and scary."

My eyes water, and I quickly wipe away the tears before they fall. Just forget about him, I tell myself. Forget about him and sing your mother's song.

"Howl at the stars, whisper when you're sleeping.  
I'll be there to hold you, I'll be there to stop  
The chills and all the weeping."

I inhale, pouring my heart into the next verse.

"Make it clear and strong, so the whole night long  
Every signal that you send, until the very end."

My voice cracks as I sing the final line:

"I will not abandon you my precious friend"

I can't sing the next verse. I can't stop the tears that flow from my eye. "I wish my mom was here," I whisper. "I wish I could talk to her about all of this. I wish she could hold me in her arms one last time and tell me that it'll all work out.

"Why'd you hafta go?" I ask myself, and I know I'm not talking about my mother anymore. "Why haven't you come back? I know you're alive out there!" Clutching my mother's book, I add, "I can't cry about my mother dying, and yet here I am weeping about a man that I barely know." I don't recognize my voice as I say this – it's almost as if someone else is speaking through me.

The wind blows through the dying corn stalks, and I glance over to them. As I watch the plants, something catches my eyes. It was there for only a second, and I think I might be going crazy, but I thought I saw a pair of dark, piercing eyes staring back at me. I've known only one person who had eyes like that, and I haven't seen him in one year, seven months, and eighteen days. I take a step, as if to tell myself that I'm just seeing things.

"Swallow, are ya out there?" My father's voice is carried on the wind to my ears, and I sigh. I look at that patch of corn one last time before I run towards the trailer.

My dad's grown so much older in this past year and a half. His face has so many wrinkles, and his hair is a lot grayer than it used to be. I can't help but think I contributed to those things, and my stomach churns with guilt. I really do love my father – I just wish he could recover from Mom's death. It's been almost two years, and he still seems to struggle with smiling or laughing. I pray to God every day to have Him help Dad, but it seems like it's going to take a long time for him to heal.

"There you are, Swallow." Ever since the incident at Christmastime, he's kept a particularly close watch on me. It's almost as if he doesn't want me to get hurt. "I was wondering where you were."

"I was just thinkin'", I say, "and praying for some rain."

My dad nods. "Well, I'll be in the trailer."

He exits and I return to the barn. I look at the spot where I saw the eyes, and I feel my curiosity intensifying. I approach it, pushing aside the stalks. There's no one there, and I'm about to leave when I notice some crushed cornstalks nearby.

So there was someone here. I approach it, only to find that there's a trail of broken corn stalks. I glance behind me, as if to make sure there's no one following me. I follow the path, my heart racing. He could be here right now! I might finally be able to see him and tell him my feelings!

I reach the end of the cornfield, running into a small clearing by a dried up creek. I look around and see a shape kneeling by the edge of the dry creek. I run to him, a smile forming on my face. His hair is shorter, and he's wearing different clothes, but I'd recognize him anywhere. I want to call out to him, but I remember that he's not really Jesus, and that I don't know his name. So I just yell, trying to get his attention.

He turns, and his face is filled with shock. He's got something in his hand, and he quickly stuffs it in his pocket. Panting, I near him, my face beaming.

"Hi," I say shyly, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Uh…hi," he responds, unsure of what to say. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw you and I wanted to see you again. It's been so long since I've seen you, and I've missed you."

I tried to take a step closer, but he backed away. I looked at him quizzically.

"You should head on home, Swallow," he whispered. "You shouldn't be here now."

"But I want to be here!" I cry. "It's been so long, and I'm not a little girl anymore!" I shake my head. "I'm not leaving. I don't want to leave and know I'll never see you again."

He clenches his fist, his jaws stiff as if fighting the urge to yell. He turns and scream out, releasing his anger and frustration. I step away, taken aback by his behavior. He spins around and grabs my shoulders. "Can't you see that this isn't right?" His eyes lock with mine, and I know I should be afraid, for his eyes are so dark and piercing, but I'm not.

"What's not right?" I look right back into his eyes. "It doesn't matter if you're Jesus or not. He brought us together, and we have to accept that."

His grip tightens. "I can't," he hisses.

"Why not?" I rebut. "I love you-"

"Don't say that!"

"I love you, and I think you love me too! You're just scared of what might happen, and I'm telling you that I don't care!"

Our eyes lock, and it seems like forever until he looks down. He releases my shoulders and walks away. I follow him. "Say somethin'! Anythin'!"

"What do you want me to say? I'm not right for you." His back his facing me, and I wish he would turn around.

"Yes you are! I know it and so do you! So stop being scared!"

"If I stay here, I'll just hurt you, and I'm not going to do that anymore." He sighs. "Please, leave."

A stare at him, shocked. Doesn't he know that the only time he hurts me is when he's not near me? "You won't hurt me. I promise." I walk up to him, my legs taking control of my body. I look up at his face and, standing on my toes, I lean in and before I know it, our lips are touching each other.

The only other boy I've kissed is Amos, and it was only once. That kiss wasn't anything like this kiss. When I kissed Amos, it was strange – not bad, just strange. I guess you can say I'm not very experienced at it, but this kiss between me and this man felt exhilarating, and I yearn for more.

His body stiffens, just like the last time we embrace, and he pulls back, leaving me hanging there. "What are you doing?" he hissed, groaning as he walked away.

"Remember when you asked me to bring you your package, and you asked me for a goodnight kiss?" I put my hand on his shoulder. "That was your kiss."

He shakes his head. "Swallow, I-"

"I want to be with you. I'm not the little girl I used to be. I know what I want, and I want you." I feel my eyes sting with the threat of tears and I look down, trying to hide my emotions. I whisper, "I need you."

He groans. "You don't even know my name."

"I don't care!" I'm crying, the tears long past stopping. "No one's ever looks at me the way you look at me! Don't you see?" I force him to look at me. "When you look at me, I know that you love me. Deny it all you want. I know it's true."

He grabs me, and I don't know what he's going to do. He pulls my face towards his, and the next thing I know, we're locked in a kiss. It's so passionate, it seems almost sinful. I know I should pull away, but I can't, both by choice and because he's holding me pretty tight, so I don't know if I could move away even if I wanted to.

He pulls back and I smile. "Stay with me," I whisper, looking up at him.

He returns my smile with the first real smile I've ever seen him give – not forced, like when the children were around him, or when he was trying to get me to do something for him. It's a genuine smile. My hopes are high, and I'm excited for his answer. I don't think I'll be sad anymore.

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**AN: If you guys don't know what he says, then I'm gonna have to bash my head against my computer desk for hours, and that'll hurt, so I really hope I've made it clear.**

**Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope that the time wasn't wasted.**


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